


The Walking Dead Drabbles and Ficlets

by Audriss



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Camping, Domestic Fluff, Drabbles, Drunk!Shane, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I have a thing with the weapons in TWD, Injured!Daryl, M/M, More tags to follow, Other, Silly, Woodbury, Worried!Daryl, Worried!Shane, Zombie Apocalypse, cuteness, overprotective!merle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audriss/pseuds/Audriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some drabbles, ficlets, silly little things from the TWD universe. Because my Tumblr family drowns me into ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The 'K' Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> Rick drops the kiddy bomb on Daryl.

Daryl trembled nervously. He was down his third smoke, and he was still panicked. He stared at Rick wide eyed, like a deer in the headlights.

He leaned against the tailgate of the beat up truck of his with a cigarette hanging from his lips, legs crossed from the ankles and nervously fiddling with the dirty red rag between his fingers. He was on a break and Rick had chosen this time to drop the fucking bomb on him. _The damn 'K' Bomb!_

“Ya ain’t fucking serious!” he growled at the uniformed man in front of him.

“I though that was what you wanted,” Rick replied nonchalantly, kicking some pebbles on the ground. 

“Jesus,” Daryl breathed, puffing the cigarette with ardor. 

“You knew this is what comes with me, if we - - you know - -,” Rick sighed, and shrugged his shoulders, “Got together.”

Daryl glared at him, trying very hard to digest the news he’d just received. Of course he’d known. But that didn’t make him any fucking less scared shitless. He couldn’t remember if he had ever thought about it. If he had he was sure that his answer probably was ‘no way in Hell’. 

“Or don’t you want to?” Rick asked, tilted his head, and frowned a little. Daryl saw him pouting, and scoffed as a reply. 

“ _I wanna!_ Of course I wanna, Rick,” Daryl sighed, and trying to make amends, he added, “But I don’t wanna end up screwing things up. Jesus, what if I lose ‘em?”

“Lose?”

“Yeah, they haven’t exactly lived in the woods like I did, what if they get lost, your backyard is _huge_ , man,” Daryl said, chewing aggressively his bottom lip, and looked up to meet Rick’s rather puzzled gaze.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Rick said, took a nervous step, and pointed his index finger at Daryl casually, “You don’t want to _move in_ with me, because you’re _afraid_ the kids will _get lost_ in the _backyard_. The fenced backyard!”

“I’mma lose ‘em for sure, and you’ll hate me for it,” Daryl growled. 

Rick stared at Daryl, blinking his eyes furiously few times, contemplating if he was going to make things worse if he'd burst into laughter. Two seconds later he didn’t care about that anymore, since he was actually howling with laughter, while Daryl glared at him. 

“’m gonna go back to work,” he growled at Rick who wiped his eyes. 

“No, no, c’mon, man,” Rick said quickly grabbing Daryl by his wrist, stopped him from running back inside the garage. 

He glared at Rick, but stopped. Against all the instincts he had, he stood there, waiting for Rick to talk him into it. Because he was almost certain that it would happen. Despite that, he kept glaring at Rick, who rubbed the bridge of his nose, and tried to gather his thoughts. 

“Daryl,” Rick said, reaching over, placing his palms on Daryl’s shoulders, and looked intently at his silly Hunter, “Daryl, I’m sure you’re going to do just fine with the kids. The backyard ain’t that big, and if I have confidence in your tracking skills if they happen to ‘disappear’ into the backyard,” he said gently but determined. 

“How about if we give it a go this weekend?” Rick asked, smirking, “Take ‘em camping, cook food over the open fire, roast marshmallows, make s’mores, and you can teach them track and maybe even shoot with that crossbow of yours. You like the woods, right? We can sleep in the same sleeping bag…” he said, and winked. 

Daryl’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed, and still pouting, he nodded, “Fine.”


	2. Camping Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl takes Rick and the kids to camping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rickyl fluff bubble is still intact. This was written between eating, and taking the kitties outside for a walk.   
> Also, I'm coming up with the most ridiculous nicknames ever.

Rick dropped the backpack on the ground with a loud thump. He stretched his back, let out a growl of dissatisfaction before he wiped his forehead from sweat. He frowned at the feeling of heat in the back of his neck, where his dark brown hair stuck to his wet skin, and made the ends curl. He turned to look at Daryl, who stood few steps away clutching his crossbow with one hand and chewing the thumb nail of his other hand fiercely.

Since they had made plans on taking a camping trip with the kids, he’d had the same panicky stare in his eyes. Right now he exuded fear and panic. He’d kept a sharp eye on Daryl the whole drive, and their hike from the car park to where they were now. 

Daryl kept a wary eye on Carl entertaining Judith who was sitting on a rock and giggling. She wore pink, and white, and red boots with white dots. Carl had jeans, blue T shirt, and dark brown hiking boots. And they were far from quiet. 

He winced when Judith giggled rather noisily. He observed Carl smiling at her and trying to imitate some forest creature that made Judith giggle even louder. How the fuck was he going to catch any game if the kids were this loud the whole time? Maybe he should try his luck with some fish.

“So, this is the spot?” Rick asked, poking Daryl playfully on his arm. He was tense and panicky and didn’t even seem to hear what Rick said. 

“Daryl?” Rick called out loud and it shook Daryl from his thoughts. 

“Mhmm?” 

“Are we gonna camp here?” Rick smirked, and turned to look at Judith who was now standing on the ground, and picking up pine cones, and handing them over to Carl. 

“Yeah, Judy, that’s a pine cone,” Carl smiled and crouched down to show it better to his baby sister.

“Y-Yeah,” he stuttered, and looked up at Rick, “Place’s as good as any.”

Daryl shrugged his reply out of him like a wet dog shakes off water from its fur. It was one of the places the hiking trails connected by a small lake. There were already a place for the fire, and several spots to put up tents. Normally, Daryl would circle far and wide these kinds of places, but he was dead scared that he’d freak Rick out if he’d take them any deeper into the woods. But as it was, he seemed to be the only one freaking out. Judith, of all the people, was absolutely thrilled and kept pointing things out, picking them up and handing them to Rick, Carl and even to Daryl.

“So, what do we do next?” Rick asked, like he’d never been on a camping trip, which made Daryl glance at Rick.

“Fire,” he growled then, as a reply, and jutted his chin towards the dirty fire pit, “We need firewood.” 

“Okay,” Rick’s answer was serious and eager. He watched as Daryl sat down on a cut down log and shed his backpack off his shoulders, and dropped his crossbow gently next to him. Then, Rick decided to usher both Carl and Judith to gather up some firewood, and give the Archer some time to calm himself down, because he felt that it was very much needed at this point. Daryl was as tense as a guitar string tuned to max, ready to snap. 

Daryl dropped on his knees on the ground, leaning over the fire pit, and began cleaning it with his bare hands, digging through the layers of ash and rock, and pieces of coal, until he was satisfied with the small indentation he’d made. 

Wiping his hands onto his pants and dusting most of the dirt off his knees he stood up and looked around to see if Rick had returned with the firewood. He was still feeling little dazed that he’d actually agreed to bring Rick and the kids out into the woods.

“Daddy!”

Daryl startled hearing a tiny and bright voice somewhere below, and quickly jumped aside and saw Judith standing there, smiling wide enough to show the two pearly white front teeth. 

“Uh… m’not…” he stammered, shaking his head, completely taken aback by Judith’s sudden interest in him, “Rick’s ya daddy. ‘m jus.. I’m just Daryl,” he kept babbling, but it only made Judith giggle, and wobble towards him. She suddenly poked her arm up, holding a small red and yellow flower that he recognized as Firewheel. 

“Flower,” she said, with a soft voice, and looked at the flower like it was magic, and kept holding it up towards Daryl. 

He trembled, when he crouched down, one knee on the ground and took the offered Firewheel from Judith.

“T-Thanks,” he huffed, still eyeing at the little child warily, chewing his cheek. He eyed worried at the girl, as she sat down next to him on the log and wiggled her rubber boot covered feet. Daryl was too terrified to move, only able to think how small and fragile Judith was. 

“Daddy,” she said matter-o-factly, leaning against Daryl’s side and hugging him with all her might, which made Daryl tense immediately, and gasp out loud like he’d been burned all of a sudden. 

“J-Judith, ain’t ya daddy, ‘m just Daryl,” he tried once more, but the girl didn’t budge, and she was still hugging him, when Rick and Carl walked to the fire pit, dropping the twigs they had collected nearby on the ground.

“She seems to have made her mind, Lovebuns,” Rick smirked.

“Shut up,” Daryl barked, blushing ever so lightly, and quickly rubbed his ears out of nervousness. 

“Judy, you love Daddy Daryl?” Rick ignored Daryl’s panicked tone, and sat down on the log, next to the two. The girl nodded fiercely and smiled still as bright as the sun.

“There ya go,” Rick pointed out triumphantly, very much enjoying Daryl’s embarrassed expression, and the flushed face of his. 

“It’s about time, you know?” Carl snickered, “You two need to get your shit together and just move in the same damn house.”

“Carl, watch your language!” Rick barked, but couldn’t have been more proud of his kids.


	3. You Did What?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle and Andrea chatting in Woodbury, and Andrea lets it slip that she accidentally shot Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt I got from [Higgystar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar)! Hopefully you like this!  
> Beta'd by my darling [tender_is_the_ghost](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost) because I'm ADHD right now with my writings and I make stupid mistakes. *bangs head against desk*

Andrea handed the scrunched, beat up map to Merle with a smile, ignoring the fact that Merle was grinning back at her like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. The slight alleyway turned into a flowery secluded spot for relaxation purposes was thankfully protected from prying eyes, because she would have never lived it down if Michonne would’ve seen them now. 

“I circled where you can find that farm I was staying at with Daryl,” she said, actually happy for the first time in a long time that she was able to do something good, even if it was for Merle Dixon. Her motive was the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d find his brother, and she’d find out what had happened to the rest of the group. 

“Oh, yeah,” Merle said, still grinning, eyeing the map with understanding, “You were right off Route 9, right before it becomes Dahlonega Highway,” his prosthetic arm skimming on the surface of the paper, “And you’re saying that the farmhouse is only about a day’s walk from there?”

Andrea shrugged barely noticeably, and drawled out, “Give or take,” as she stepped next to Merle, poking at the map, and drawing a lazy circle around an area near the Highway, “This is where we looked for Sophia. Even made it up around here.” 

She was shoulder to shoulder with Merle, and pointing at the map, but Merle was hardly paying any attention to her finger. She smelled like shampoo and soap – courtesy of the Governor – and Merle couldn’t deny that she was one hell of a looker, that Andrea Harrison. Truthfully, he’d wanted to bang that ass when he laid his eyes on her for the first time at the quarry camp, but the way she had dismissed him, and acted around the redneck really threw in a dampener. But now that they were safe and sound inside the walls of Woodbury - - Merle looked at the blonde woman and grinned.

“How come we never hooked up?”

He was eyeing her body and didn’t see or wasn’t bothered by how Andrea rolled her eyes, before adjusting the strap of her bag. 

“You called me a whore,” Andrea scoffed back, “And a rugmuncher.”

Merle chuckled, still eyeing the woman, practically undressing her with his eyes, “Got a way with words, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Andrea replied, rolling her eyes at him again, clearly thinking how _that_ wasn’t exactly the way she’d describe Merle Dixon.

“Mmm,” Merle mumbled, stepping closer, keeping his eyes on Andrea’s. His demeanor changed quickly, eyes narrowing to slits and his voice dropping an octave, “Why are you doing this?”

It was a valid question. 

The world had been dog-eat-dog before things turned to shit, and it was even more so now. Merle had no reason to trust the woman in front of him, or anyone in this town, despite the fact that he had been helped by their leader, and made into one of his lieutenants. He wanted to see if there was an angle to all this _niceness_ she was showing right now, since she had hardly showed any before. And if Merle Dixon had any skills worth mentioning, it was the fact that he’d be able to detect trickery if she displayed any.

But Andrea shrugged slightly again, and looked him dead in his eyes before she replied, “I’d want the same thing, if it was my family out there.”

The answer seemed acceptable, and Merle nodded. 

“Sure you don’t wanna come with me?” Merle offered, which only made Andrea purse her lips and glance down at the ground, “You ain’t curious about the old gang?”

The look on her face was something familiar. He’d _felt_ it when they’d handcuffed him on the roof and left him for dead.

“Oh…!” Merle gloated just a little, at the face she made – a combination of disappointment and rejection – and smirked even broader, “Oh yeah, you really was cut loose, weren’t you?” 

“I’m sure they came back!” Andrea barked defiantly, “I didn’t stick around to find out. Unless they were still mad about that little incident…” she said, before she stopped, biting her cheek, and scolding herself internally. The one person on this planet she didn’t need to be telling what had happened at the farm, and here she was yapping away.

“Oh yeah? An incident? Whatcha do? Slept with Officer Friendly or sum’thin?” Merle cackled and folded the map, tucking it under his arm. He eyed the blonde woman, almost certain that the biggest mistake she’d ever done with the group was to dye someone’s white shirt pink with a red sock or something stupid like that.

“I shot someone accidentally,” Andrea gritted from between her clenched teeth.

“You shot someone? Bhah!” Merle laughed at her face and leaned closer, draping his arm around her shoulders, feeling their skin stick together in the midday Georgia heat, “I sure hope it was Officer Friendly!”

“I shot Daryl,” she whispered, and squirmed away swiftly.

“You _what_?!” Merle shouted out loud and slammed his prosthetic arm against the brick wall next to Andrea’s head trapping her in place. She looked up at the man, and tried to play it cool, smiling a little, and shaking her head, chuckling for emphasis, “It was an accident! Not a big thing, really, just a little misunderstanding!”

“What happened?” Merle hissed between his teeth, and stared down at Andrea.

“We all told him not to go out there in the woods alone! It was just a little misunderstanding,” Andrea waved her hand, feeling slightly nervous, because she had seen Merle go crazy in Atlanta, “He got himself injured and all bloodied and then he comes out of the woods staggering and stumbling like a walker! I couldn’t see that far!” 

“Then what the fuck are you doing shooting at people? Is he alright? You better tell me or no one will ever find your body!” Merle demanded with a low growl his fingers curling into Andrea’s shirt. She looked at the redneck in front of her, his eyes were blazing but she felt his hand trembling.

“I - - I just grazed him. M-Merle calm down,” Andrea stammered, wincing when she felt a tug on her shirt. She frowned, surprised how distraught the man looked all of a sudden.

“You shot my baby brother,” he hissed, “I ought to put a bullet in _you_ for that! Why the fuck you go on shooting at people?” he shouted now, grabbing her arm and shaking her like a leaf. 

“Merle, I thought he was a walker,” Andrea whispered, her cheeks flushed, feeling embarrassed about the whole incident, “I shot Daryl accidentally! It’s not like no one ever had wanted to put a bullet in him anyways! Or in you!” 

“Watch your mouth, bitch! You shot my little brother and ya think I’mma forgive and forget jus’ like that?!”

“He was thrown off a horse, and fell into a ravine,” she started, when Merle let go of her shirt, and started pacing back and forth in front of her, “And he fell down while climbing back up, but got his own arrow on his side and crashed down that ravine again. So he was injured and bloodied and dirty as hell, but I swear, I didn’t mean to shoot _him_! I wanted to protect the camp, I wanted to protect the people!” she explained.

Sweat beaded Merle’s forehead, and he scoffed at Andrea, still pacing restlessly. He brushed his hand over his face, and his short hair, before curling the fingers on his neck. Andrea witnessed how Merle brought his hand onto his chin, and completely out of character began chewing the nail of his thumb. She had seen Daryl do it before and the similarity of the gesture and the body language was striking. 

“I promise, Daryl’s fine,” Andrea started again, trying to touch Merle’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, he better be,” Merle barked flailing his arms up shoving Andrea’s hand aside, “Once I find him and if he’s injured in any way - - I - - I know exactly who to blame!”

“I grazed his temple, he was in far worse condition over the other injuries - -,” she began, this time reaching over and touching Merle’s uninjured arm.

“But he’s alright? He’s not - - like c-crippled or anything?” Merle stopped his fidgeting and stared rather frantically at Andrea, painfully expectant to hear that Daryl wasn’t a burden to the group.

“Walking, talking, annoying people the moment he got the permission from Hershel to get out of the bed,” Andrea sighed, daring to crack a small smile, “He was pulling his weight all the way to the point when I got - - separated from them.”

“A-Are you sure?” his voice cracked, words coming out in a jumbled mess, “H-He’s my baby brother!”

“Merle, I swear, the last I saw him, he was fine, killing walkers left and right,” Andrea chuckled trying still to lighten up the mood.

“I’m supposed to take care of him, you know. I’m supposed to take care of that little shit and here I am living the luxury life in the fucking apocalypse. I gotta find him. I gotta tell him I miss him and I love him,” Merle babbled and nodded his head, like he’d just made up his mind.

Andrea agreed quickly and patted his back, “You can do that.”


	4. Favorite Moment In Canon – What? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT DIDN’T HAPPEN?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Sharyl Week: Favorite moment in canon, day 1.   
> It happened. In my mind. I reject your reality and substitute my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharyl Week is an awesome thing.

The heat of the sun was tangible, when the group went through the abandoned cars as quickly as they could. Shane shadowed Glenn who was now looking under the hood of a large delivery van, and trying to loosen the bolts and screws enough to get the much needed radiator hose. He kept looking around and every now and then searching for Daryl among the vehicles where he was moving quickly from car to car and wrenching open the flaps of the gas tanks, and letting T-Dog to siphon what ever little gas was left in them. 

The loud trill of the cicadas filled the air that was rippling all around them, when Shane’s interest was piqued and he wandered towards another delivery van. “Lipsey - mountain spring water” was printed on the back of it. 

_No, it can’t be_ , he thought but lowered his Mossberg shotgun on the ground, and let it lean against the delivery van before he moved to open the side hatch.

“Glenn…” he breathed out loud, “Were we short on water?”

Without waiting for an answer he popped one cap open and the lukewarm water poured on him, drenching his hair. He gulped down a mouthful of water ignoring the taste of warm water simply because his body was already showing symptoms of dehydration, just like the entire group. 

Glenn’s cheering echoed in Shane’s ears, but even then, his hearing focused quickly to the soft words being drawled next to him in clear Georgian accent, “What did ya find?”

“Water jugs, a bunch of ‘em,” Shane smirked, and granted a quick glance at Daryl, who was now leaning against the van, biting his bottom lip. Shane could hear his breathing hitch in his throat, and when he looked at him again, Daryl’s cheeks were flushed. 

“Wha?” Shane asked, only slightly confused.

“Mhmm, nothin’,” he murmured a hasty reply and tilted his head to look beyond Shane at Glenn grinning happily as he dug into the clamps of the radiator hose, suddenly jazzed about the discovery of nearly ten jugs of water that he hadn’t even noticed Daryl’s arrival.

“Chinaman over there,” Daryl grumbled, jutting his chin towards Glenn. Shane grinned, reached quickly for the Mossberg he’d abandoned on the ground, before he spun Daryl around and shoved him behind the Lipsey van. 

“Now, what was it that you were looking at?” Shane asked, pressing Daryl against the van, his hands resting on Daryl’s hips, and thumbs gently stroking.

“Nothin’,” Daryl shook his head, but the tips of his ears were now a very cute and pleasing shade of pink. He chewed his cheek as he maneuvered his crossbow down on the ground carefully, trying not to scrape it against Shane or himself. 

“It’s gotta be something,” Shane murmured, “You were staring. Were you eyeballing Glenn then?”

Daryl blushed even more so, shook his head and whined from the back of his throat when he heard Shane whisper, his lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. Despite the heat, he shuddered as he unconsciously tilted his head a little, baring his neck to the former cop. The movement wasn’t lost to Shane, and he chuckled, before he slid his hand up onto Daryl’s neck, entangling his fingers into his hair. The Hunter was whimpering and trembling beneath him and Shane couldn’t have thought of a better place for Daryl to be at that very moment. He nipped playfully at the sensitive skin of Daryl’s neck, sucked a pulse point and mouthed his way up to his jaw, moving towards the grand prize that were Daryl’s lips. 

Daryl let out yet another weak moan, muffled by Shane’s mouth slanted over his, and his tongue dueling with Shane’s before relishing the dominance over to Shane easily. He shifted his arms around Shane’s neck, fingers raking through the dark locks as he continued to enjoy their heated make out session, despite of the danger. Shane’s knee pressed between Daryl’s legs, his throbbing hard on ground against Daryl’s own hip. 

They pulled back for air abruptly, both panting hard, and both delightfully flushed.

“Was jus’ looking at ya,” Daryl murmured, “Ya know, taking a shower.”

Shane arched his eyebrow at the words but yanked Daryl back against him, pecking at his kiss-swollen lips, “Mhmm, gonna find us a place to get washed up, really good, and thorough. And soon. How’s that?”

Daryl nodded eagerly.


	5. Daryl or Shane?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharyl Week - Day 2: Daryl or Shane?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme was evil. EVIL! I can't choose. I chose both.

Shane sat on the uncomfortable rocking chair in the small bedroom they had dragged Daryl to only few hours ago. The Archer was now sound asleep, after being cleaned, patched and medicated by Hershel. He leaned his elbows on his knees, and breathed uneasily, anxiety nestled firmly in the pit of his stomach, and the sight of Daryl bandaged and sleeping in the bed wasn’t really helping him at all.

He kept watch over the younger man, sleeping, wrapped in the sheet, his hair sticking up from underneath the bandage Hershel Greene had tied around his head. He’d said it was to protect the wound, as well as to stop bleeding. 

_Bleeding._

Daryl was bleeding when he staggered out of the woods, and they all had been prepared to kill him. He could still feel how cold his blood had suddenly felt inside of him, when he had realized that the “walker” they had rushed to put down was actually Daryl. And how relieved he had felt when he had spoken - - no growled at Rick. 

Shane’s leg bounced and he kept chewing his thumbnail and looking at Daryl every few seconds. It wasn’t fair and he knew it wasn’t _Daryl’s fault_ but he couldn’t stop himself from blaming the Hunter for running out on his own. By the time Rick entered the bedroom Shane had nearly chewed off his thumbnail and whipped himself into a panic riddled frenzy. When the door opened, and Rick stepped in, Shane jumped up from the rocking chair immediately. His voice was hushed, low, but still when he spoke out loud, it was too loud.

“The hell, Rick?!” Shane growled, glancing quickly over at Daryl. He gestured angrily towards Daryl, before adding, “He could have died! He could have died out there and we wouldn’t have known about it! Ever! I would have - -,” Shane’s voice cracked then, and he ran his hand over his face, pursing his lips, and trying to calm down, turning his head and allowing his gaze to rake through the room. 

“Fuck this shit,” he hissed and shifted his weight from foot to foot, like he did when he was feeling nervous and anxious about things he couldn’t control.

Seeing Daryl out cold from the medication and the ordeal left him apprehensive towards anyone that might have had a say in the matter, but he was feeling furious.

“Shane, you gotta calm down,” Rick replied with an equally hushed tone, grabbing Shane by his shoulders and ushering him into the small bathroom attached to the bedroom. He ignored Shane’s grumbling, until he had closed the door behind them.

“Shit, Rick, he could have died!” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Rick agreed, still slightly shocked and shaken from what he had witnessed that afternoon, but he needed to calm Shane down, “Shane, you’re my brother!” Rick shouted out of frustration, “We’ve been brothers since the second grade! But Daryl…” 

He was cut off by Shane, with an angry wave or his arm, and a disdainful scoff, “Daryl’s important. He’s important to me!”

“I know he is! Jesus, he’s important to you, and to me, and you don’t think if it came to between you two - - I can’t choose. I can’t make a decision like that! I won’t lose you, I won’t lose him. I can’t. I can’t make a decision like that!”

Shane huffed, sitting down on the edge of the tub, burying his face into his palms for a few seconds. He looked up at Rick and shook his head, “Fuck, man. All I know is that I just got myself something good, something that - - that _I_ don’t wanna end up losing and he’s there on that bed, battered and bruised and I’m feeling like I’m nothing but an ant underneath a boot because - -” 

Rick stepped in front of Shane swiftly, pulling the man up, and hugging him fiercely before he managed to finish whatever he was about to say. The hug was tight, Rick’s arms squeezing Shane in place, and silent. Rick didn’t say anything, and neither did Shane; the hug itself was enough for the distraught man at that very moment.

Slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare Shane with any sudden movements, Rick shifted his hands and cupped Shane’s face, “He’s gonna be fine, brother. You heard Hershel. You know Daryl’s strong.”

“I - - I know,” Shane replied, “Thanks, man.”

Rick nodded, and watched as Shane walked to the small sink and turned on the tabs. The former cop leaned down and splashed some water on his face, hunched over the running water. 

“I know how you feel about Daryl. I know, because I feel the same about Lori. I’d die if something would happen to her, or to Carl,” Rick amended from the door, “I owe my life and theirs to you.”

“Thanks,” Shane grumbled a half-assed answer, still too overwhelmed by the situation.

“Now, go get some sleep,” Rick ordered, the tone expecting Shane to comply without any questions, “There’s enough space right there on the bed with Daryl. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

With that he wandered out of the room, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Shane took a few more moments in the bathroom, before he dried his face and hands onto a towel, and padded back into the bedroom. He undressed, as quickly as he could, and folded the clothes on the rocking chair, before he climbed onto the bed next to Daryl. 

He sat there just looking at Daryl for a while, stroking his cheek few times, before he took a deep breath and slid under the blanket, pulling the younger man against him. He knew how sappy he was, he knew that he would probably look like an ass for it, but he just couldn’t give up on something so good. 

“No matter what happens, Daryl, it’s always gonna be _you. Always_ ,” he murmured against the Archer’s shoulder, and wrapped his arms around his waist.


	6. Are you with me, man?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharyl week - Day 3: Favorite Episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with this one.

_“Are you with me, man?”_

Of course he was. He would always be there for Shane. 

Right now, the object of his affection and trust was snoring in his cot, out cold from the wine he’d drank basically at one go. He had stumbled into the tent upset, and slurring something incoherent and crashed on his cot, on top of his sleeping bag. He’d just sighed, placed his crossbow on his own cot and managed – somehow – to pull the black T shirt off of him in a vain attempt to get him properly set for the night. It had left him slightly winded, as his side still throbbed with irritating dull pain. Deducing that taking off his pants would be too much of a hassle and he’d sleep just fine with them on, he’d just chosen to take off the boots Shane wore.

_“Are you with me, man?”_

_Yes, I am, I’ll always be with you, Shane!_ He’d wanted to scream that out loud, but instead he’d just agreed with him monosyllabically. 

His chest tightened, and the pain he suddenly felt was too much to bear. He’d lost his entire family. He’d never miss his father; but his uncle, and Merle - - he missed them. But now, amidst this fucking apocalypse, he’d found a new family, and someone to call his own, someone who called him as their own. He’d found _Shane_. And he was still lost in the emotions, fearing that one day when he woke up, he’d realize that it had all been just an illusion, some kind of a hallucination; a fitful dream.

_“Are you with me, man?”_

He would be. He would be forever, no matter how long that forever would end up being. 

Sitting on his own cot, hunched over his knees, staring at his feet, Daryl sniffled. He’d learned the minute he’d found out that his mother was dead, burned into nothingness, that Dixon men didn’t cry. His father had beaten every tear out of his body with his belt, fists, what ever he’d gotten his hands on. But right now, looking at Shane sleeping on his stomach, arms hanging over the edge of the narrow cot, his pants hanging low on his hips, right hand still clutching the empty wine bottle - - right now he didn’t want to be a Dixon. He wanted to be Daryl who needed to feel it.

_“Are you with me, man?”_

He had been, since the first night at the camp at the quarry. Merle had been drunk or high, or both, and Daryl had just wanted to have some peace and quiet. He’d wandered down the slope, to the small body of sky blue water that had glistened dark blue in the moonlight. He had seen Shane without a shirt for the first time, and he’d been unable to stop staring. He was almost certain he’d drooled a little too. Shane had smirked, said something he had not heard, and wiped his face onto his shirt he’d carried and still Daryl had not been able to say shit. 

“Silent type, huh?” Shane had asked then with a cocky smirk lingering on his lips. He’d actually leaned closer, like they were part of some secret society and whispered, “I bet you are a screamer in bed, though,” and made Daryl gasp, and blush faster than a nun in a whore house. Shane had walked past him, winking at him, and Daryl had been loss at words, staring after the self-sure son of a bitch.

_“Are you with me, man?”_

He’d be, until the gory end. 

Daryl got up, poking Shane on his shoulder and rousing him from his sleep. 

“Christ, why the fuck did you drink so much?” he mumbled at the former cop, watching him shift in the cot, and smile sleepily at Daryl.

“We shot a fucking barn full of walkers,” Shane slurred huskily, voice low from sleep and wine, “This world is fucked up.”

“Yeah, but I’m with ya, Shane.”


	7. Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharyl week - day 4: Favorite AU  
> So, a Cop!Shane and Mechanic!Daryl are the godparents of Judith, who needs a birthday cake. They are horrible at cooking and/or baking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took liberties, again, with this one. I had to write something silly.

”Okay, whose bright idea was it to get us to make the damn cake?” Shane asked, and frowned at the ingredients on the counter; flour, eggs, milk, cream, butter and some other stuff he’d never even heard of until he had to hunt them down from a grocery store. Daryl stood next to him, chewing his thumbnail, and wincing a little. They had agreed to it after a really long night of drinking and watching some stupid football game.

“I haven’t baked anything ever!” Shane groaned, propping his palms against the counter and sighing deep, “We are so screwed, man.”

“We?” Daryl inquired rather annoyed, and arched an eyebrow at Shane, “Ain’t gonna bake no damn cake! Ain’t no fucking Betty Crocker!” 

A birthday cake for Judith’s second birthday party wasn’t anything like tracking, killing and dressing a deer and freezing the meat. And it certainly wasn’t cooking up some bacon and eggs. Daryl could do those with his eyes shut. Shane could do those his eyes shut if Daryl was there to help him. But a cake? No chance in hell. 

“You’re gonna bail on me then?” Shane replied snarkily, frowning at Daryl who looked like he was ready to bolt. He’d come home from work at the garage to this, Shane standing in the kitchen with the ingredients on the counter and still wondering what the hell he should do. 

“There’s a book,” Daryl shrugged, jutting his chin towards the cook book Shane had found in their dingy book case. Shane groaned, rolling his eyes and sneered at the cook book, letting out a frustrated moan, because this - - this wasn’t what he had signed up for when he and Daryl agreed to become the godparents of Judith. 

“Well, of course there’s a cook book!” he retorted. He’d gotten it as a present from his mom when he had moved out on his own; not that he’d ever used the damn thing. He’d been the junior officer at King’s County Sheriff’s Department, and they’d given him the shitty shifts. He’d slept during the day, and fast food places like Wendy’s, had become his kitchen. 

“Seriously, whose bright idea this was?” Shane asked again, and looked pointedly at Daryl.

“’dunno,” Daryl shrugged.

He knew. It was Lori and Rick’s idea. One thing of their bucket list for the birthday and one less thing not to worry about, but Daryl was worried – frightened even – about the possibility of people having to eat the cake made by Shane and him.

Shane sighed, stepping closer to the counter and picked up the cook book, flipping through the pages, until he found the section labelled as ‘Desserts’. He looked at the pictures, barely reading the titles or the ingredients, eventually landing on something that reminded him of a birthday cake; a very exquisite birthday cake. He showed it to Daryl, with a silent question lingering in his eyes, and watched as his eyes grew wide. Daryl took a step back, tilting his head and then poking at the picture pointedly, “What the fuck is that?!”

“A cake?”

“Ya think that’s what it’s gonna look like?” Daryl hissed, “Ain’t there some places ya can order a cake from?”

“Well…” Shane replied with hesitation.

The thought of buying the cake had never even crossed his mind. Blinking his eyes few times the Deputy stared at Daryl, “How do you know about that? Bakeries and shit?”

Daryl shrugged his shoulders yet again, and chewed his bottom lip, peering at Shane through the messy strands of his hair, “The guys from the garage go to this place every now and then,” he mumbled. 

“What’s it called?” 

“ _Cakes and Coffee_ , fancy stuff.”

When Shane turned to look at him, there was a look of relief on his face, so Daryl waited for what he was about to say when Shane stepped closer to the younger man, and brushed few strands of Daryl’s hair behind his ear and presses his forehead against his.

“I love you so fucking much,” Shane whispered, sighing in relief. Daryl blushed, but hummed happily that he’d been able to solve the cake crisis and that Judith wouldn’t end up hating them in the future.


	8. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharyl Week - Day 5: Favorite Headcanon.
> 
> Shane and Daryl fight, fight, fight. Always fighting. Only, this time something goes differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for darling [Saya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yvonne_tsugu/pseuds/yvonne_tsugu) because she is just too selfless and awesome and talented and drew us a lot of Sharyl this week.
> 
> And also for [reedusnorman](http://reedusnorman.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, contains some slurs used towards police officers. Remember, this is Daryl who is pissed off.

They’re fighting – again. It was only Tuesday and they were at it for the gazillionth time. This fight was about going alone in the woods. Shane didn’t want anyone to run around alone, and be mistaken as a walker, but Daryl insisted that he could take care of himself. Truthfully, if anyone asked them right now, they wouldn’t be able to remember the reason for their argument, but neither of them was about to back down from the fight. 

It really didn’t help for Merle to butt in and spur them both on.

“Yeah? What the fuck does a hillbilly redneck trash like you know about it?” Shane shouted angrily, the tips of his ears red, and anger flashing in his dark eyes. At least that’s what it looked like to Daryl.

“A lot fucking more than some city brass like ya!” Daryl growled, his fingers clutching into tight fists. 

Their faces were red from shouting, sweat glistening on their foreheads as they had kept arguing in the direct sunlight for the past hour, and they both had been equally inventive in their ways of ignoring Dale, who tried to be their mediator, for the gazillionth time.

“Shane, Daryl,” Dale sighed, trying to pry the two apart as they snarled at each other like two rabid dogs, “Come on, you can’t do this. The ruckus you’re making is just like ringing a dinner bell for the walkers!”

“Shut up, old man! This is none of ya business!” Daryl shouted.

“Shut up, I’m gonna teach this hillbilly some manners!” Shane snapped at Dale, and took a step closer to Daryl, who in turn also took a step forward. They stared at each other, eyes blazing.

“Stop calling me a fucking hillbilly! All y’all ain’t no better either!” Daryl hissed through clenched teeth and flailed his arm towards the group somewhere in their peripheral vision. His lips were pursed, as he frowned viciously at Shane. They were close enough to breathe the same air, still glaring at each other, and not listening to a word Dale had to say. 

Shane swallowed. This – fighting – had been going on for the past week, ever since the two Dixon brothers had joined their small band of survivors. And even if the fighting may have looked like it was about who was the biggest alpha male of the bunch, it had absolutely nothing to do with that. At least not from Shane’s point of view.

He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about Daryl that just rubbed him the wrong way. He’d tease him just to get a fight going on, and he had nearly bent over backwards to be alone with Daryl, which would only lead into fighting eventually, also.

Daryl on the other hand had caught himself staring at the former Deputy on more occasions than one after he had seen him without a shirt down at the quarry. He’d tried to reason that he was just annoyed that the male model of a former deputy was flaunting his abs to anyone in the camp. 

“Fucking _pig_ ,” Daryl growled, quiet enough for only Shane to hear. 

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me.”

“You sassing at me, boy?” Shane growled, stepping closer, oozing alpha male attitude and ready to fight with Daryl. Only, if he was honest to himself, he didn’t want to fight the redneck, he wanted to do something different altogether. 

“I ain’t your boy, Crispy Bacon. Just stay - -,” Daryl started, ready to shove Shane away, or slam his fist into his face, but he never got around to that. Shane grabbed his ratty shirt roughly, his fingers wrapped tightly into the fabric, before he yanked Daryl closer, their chests slamming together. 

“You better watch your mouth!” Shane hissed, “There’s better ways to use it!” and before Daryl had time to react in any way, Shane’s lips crashed demandingly against his. A yelp of surprise rose from Daryl’s throat, as their lips molded together, but then he whined into Shane’s mouth. Shane wrapped one arm around Daryl’s waist, and threw other arm around his shoulders. A soft sob or maybe a tiny little mewling sound escaped from Daryl’s throat as he still stared wide eyed at Shane, who had his eyes squeezed shut. Shane tilted his head, slanting his mouth over Daryl’s soft pink lips, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh, before his tongue soothed the slight burning feeling, before pushing into his mouth, sliding wetly against his own.

When Shane started to pull away, ready to face the anger of a very pissed off redneck, and definitely expecting to get punched in the face, he felt Daryl’s trembling fingers tangling into his black T shirt, keening, and stopping him from moving away. Shane stopped, unsure, opening his eyes, looking at Daryl. Another soft gasp, sexiest noise he’d ever heard, and a strangled groan from Daryl and Shane’s self-control was shot to shreds. 

Instead of a nose breaking blow of his fist, Daryl leaned tighter against Shane, pulling him back into the kiss, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Shane moved his hand from around Daryl’s waist, to cup his cheek and caress the softness of his neck, only to feel Daryl tremble underneath his touch. He moaned into Daryl’s mouth, when he felt Daryl unsurely returning to the surprise kiss of his. Daryl’s fingers gripped tighter the fabric of Shane’s shirt, and his body molded fluidly against Shane’s. Need and want alternated in Daryl’s mind, because just like that – with a kiss – the flood gates had opened and he just wanted and needed this to happen.

If they’d been paying any attention to their surroundings, they would have seen Dale Horvath staring at them wide eyed next to the duo, his mouth gaping open, clearly unable to say anything from the shock. After a moment, the feeling returned into his limbs and he blinked few times, turning around wanting to hightail out of the scene.

Unfortunately for Dale, he wasn’t a hunter, or much of a fisher either, and he stepped on a small twig when he turned around. It alerted both of the kissing men.

Shane’s reaction time was admirable, he pulled the small handgun he had tucked underneath the waistband of his cargo pants and pointed the gun at Dale. There wasn’t anything wrong with Daryl’s reaction either, as he unsheathed the hunting knife and the blade was pressed against Dale’s throat in a matter of seconds. Their bodies worked in newly found synchronous movement, but realizing that the intruder of their first kiss – and it was just that – was just Dale, they lowered their weapons. 

Admittedly out of breath, lips swollen and puffy, and their faces fire truck red, they glared around themselves, seeing people stare back at them, before hurrying towards Shane’s jeep.


	9. Too Much Partying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Rick Grimes can't hold his liquor and protects his credit card. Daryl has some laughs at his expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am suffering from writer's block. Universe owed me. I wrote this in 30 minutes this morning, while eating breakfast and I'm glad.  
> Rickyl bubble, and silly, fluffy, domestic life. No angst here!

Daryl’s sitting in the kitchen, with a mug of steaming hot coffee in front of him on the table, when Rick slouches in. He looks like the dead raised and driven over couple of dozen times. He wipes his face and leans against the counter, shoulders hunched.

“Ya had a fun night?” Daryl asks, slightly smug.

“Shut up,” Rick groans as a strangled reply, “Are the birds always so fucking loud?!” staring out of the kitchen window, eye to eye with the brown thrasher occupying the tree on their front lawn. 

Daryl chuckles, and resumes sipping the coffee that’s more milk and sugar than actual coffee, albeit it’s still hot. He’s never really been a friend of coffee, unless it's _Irish_ , but knowing that Rick would be in a desperate need of some, he’d brewed a fresh pot the minute he woke up. He’s already fully clothed, even though it’s barely 6 am. His jacket and crossbow and some supplies are already waiting by the door, and he’s growing a bit more fidgety by the moment as he knows he’ll be out in the woods soon enough. It's Wednesday and Daryl has been waiting for the opportunity to go hunting for a while now. It's just for a day, but he's still more of a outdoors kind of a guy than a suburb kind of a guy.

Rick on the other hand is wearing a dark grey robe, blue boxers, and just one, black sock. His hair is in disarray, even more than Daryl’s own, and the bags under his eyes are as big as Canada. Rick’s never really been the guy to deal well with a hangover. Or booze for that matter. But then again, Daryl’s having time of his life watching at the poor bastard squirming in his misery.

“What time it is?” Rick asks, huffing, as he turns around staring Daryl with bleary eyes.

“Almost 6 am,” Daryl shrugs a reply.

“Oh, Christ!” Rick groans out loud. He takes another step and winces, lets out a hissing noise and stops. He looks up at Daryl and then back at his right foot and the black sock, “The hell’s pressing against my foot?”

Curiously, Daryl looks down too, watching Rick prop himself against a chair, and then lift his foot up to inspect his sock and the source of the sudden pain.

“Why - - why do I have a credit card in my sock?” he asks, genuinely surprised, when he pulls out a card. Daryl shrugs his shoulders, and looks up the man with his eyes twinkling, half a smirk on his lips. He waits for a moment, watching Rick’s brow scrunching as he tries to think, before the realization hits him.

“Oh yeah! There were these seedy guys outside the bar…” Rick chuckles, “I was afraid they’d rob me. So I hid my credit card in my sock!” 

Daryl blinks once, twice and keeps staring at Rick, before he nods slowly, “Tha’s an awesome idea, love,” he says, agreeing amusedly.

“Yeah, your man is clever as fuck!” Rick says, rather proudly and grinning. He tosses the card on the kitchen table before he goes to the coffee maker and reaches for a mug from the cabinet. Daryl picks it up and looks at it curiously, still slowly sipping the coffee from his own mug.

“Yeah, I can take care of myself, even if I’m drunk!” Rick says, flexing his muscles, and huffing like a damn silver back gorilla, "Who says I can't handle booze?"

“Of course you can,” Daryl snorts, “It’s like nobody knows you’re the Sheriff! Ya doin’ such a good job at that,” Daryl nods, “By the way, _this_ is a _library_ card. The restaurant you were taking over last night called just before closing time. _You_ left your phone and your right shoe there and I was gonna pick ‘em up after I come back from huntin’. Kids are still asleep, but Beth’s gonna come and take care of Judy so your ass can sleep off the hangover and Carol’s gonna take Carl to school with Sophia.”

Daryl stands up, walks to the sink and places the now empty mug in it, and then walks over to Rick. He wraps his arms around him, from behind, and kisses his neck. Still stunned, Rick’s still holding the coffee pot and the mug, but other wise motionless. 

“Yeah, _my_ Sheriff can definitely take care of himself!” Daryl chuckles, slaps Rick's ass making him wince, and walks out of the kitchen, shaking his head, “I'll be back later! Bye!”


	10. Rosie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There something going on with Daryl, which worries Shane. And Rick. And Hershel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fighting the angst one silly ficlet at a time.

Shane blinks. Actually, he stares at Daryl like he’s some kind of a half wit. 

He stares at the tiny little ceramic pot with a spiky little plant in it as Daryl holds it and spritzes water on it. It’s the first time he sees Daryl actually smiling at something other than him, and he knows it’s stupid, but he feels a jolt of jealousy gripe his stomach.

It’s surprising, though. He’s smirking, a lopsided smile, and actually looking a little bit proud of what he’s doing, and Shane just can’t understand what the hell is going on.

“What - - what the hell is that?” he asks, still blinking, slightly wary.

“An aloe,” Daryl shrugs a reply, but doesn’t look at Shane.

“An aloe,” he repeats. Since when, or _how_ , does Daryl know what the fuck an aloe is? Is that what he was before all this, a florist? He shakes his head and resumes staring at the plant in its pot in Daryl’s hands.

Daryl’s hands. He’s honestly feeling suddenly jealous, of a plant, because he loves those hands. 

Shane loves how steady they are, how accurate his aim is, how determined they are in every motion they make, and how strong. But now, as Daryl, the resident redneck hunter of the prison, is tending the plant with all the love he’s got in him, and Shane’s not certain if he’s dreaming or if he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s spiking a fever. Maybe he’s been bit. So, he just keeps staring at Daryl and that poky, little plant. 

“Yeah, aloe plants are good,” Daryl says, almost too affectionately, to no one in particular, placing the flower pot on the small desk in their cell, gently, and smiles lovingly as he keeps his eyes on the plant.

“Ya got into gardening? Gonna run around the yard with Rick in an overall and plough the field?”

Daryl scoffs and pushes past Shane, “I’mma go hunt.”

“Do I need to bring ya two a tractor or sumthin’? Sing _‘Old MacDonald Had A Farm'_?!” 

“Fuck you, Shane!” is all Shane hears from down the hall, as Daryl scurries outside.

 

* * *

 

Shane teases Daryl about the aloe for the next two months. He’s surprisingly tolerant and ignores the jabs and pokes from Shane. He actually gets pissed when Rick and Hershel – invited by Shane – come to see the plant. They are all staring at it, when Daryl walks in their cell and picks up his crossbow he oiled that morning. 

He glares at them, granting a murderous look at Shane.

“So, this - - plant?” Rick asks, and looks equally stunned to Shane when he found out about it.

“What about it?”

“Are you feeling alright, son?” Hershel asks, leaning against the crutches, and tilting his head slightly. Daryl respects Hershel, he looks up to him, so he doesn’t disrespect him by being grouchy at him.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Daryl grunts.

“Is there a _reason_ for this plant?” Rick asks, scratching the back of his head, as he tries very hard to comprehend the existence of the plant. The former cop looks surprised, and glances at Shane as if he’d know the answer to it.

“Is there a fucking reason for ya to play some hillbilly in the yard?” Daryl counters, and secures the crossbow on his back, and adjusts the strap across his chest. He doesn’t settle inside the cell, even though he’s earned the evening’s rest. He’s angry when he marches outside and heads to the woods and doesn’t come back for three days. 

 

* * *

 

Shane comes into the cell after he comes back from a run and finds Daryl snoring on the bed. He sighs out of relief. Daryl’s not someone who gets lost, but that doesn’t mean that Shane wouldn’t worry. He turns to drop his weapon and some of the stuff he found while outside on the able next to the plant, that has grown a lot over the past two months.

“It’s kinda nice to come home to someone,” Shane murmurs softly, and reaches over to adjust the pot of the aloe.

“And ya ain’t half bad, to be honest,” he continues, “I think we should give ya a name. Would you like Rosie?”

“Hey,” he hears Daryl growl suddenly, and he swivels around quickly.

“Hi back,” Shane smiles, sitting on the bed, “Ya still talking to me, huh?”

Daryl looks up at him, and frowns, and doesn’t reply back. Shane figures he’s pissed even though he’s talking to him. 

“Been reading about them aloes,” Shane continues, a little bit ashamed, as he juts his chin towards the plant still on the desk. 

“Yeah?”

Shane nods a little, shrugging his shoulders and falls down on the cot next to Daryl, scooting closer, his arm slithers under Daryl’s neck, and he rests back against him, which makes Shane feel relieved. 

“It’s a natural lubricant,” Shane says, before he grins widely.

“Tha’s right,” Daryl nods, releasing the breath he was holding, and looking up at Shane. A slight rosy hue tints his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and he’s wishing all of a sudden that he wasn’t so predictable in this matter. He wishes that he could have signed the plant off as a stress relief, or something.

“It’s a nice plant,” Shane says nonchalantly, “Didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”

“Yeah,” Daryl replies, poking his elbow against Shane’s ribs, making the former cop grunt out loud.

“By the way, were you talking to _Rosie_ just now?” Daryl inquires and chortles out loud when Shane tenses, twitches and blushes.


	11. Body Issues, Really?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's being paranoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Don't. Know. What. This. Is.

It is well past midnight when Daryl slides under the blanket next to Rick. He grimaces at his oil stained fingers once more and sighs deep. It was pointless. He’d been elbow deep in the insides of the car today.

Rick has been in a mood lately, and they haven’t had enough time for themselves. _Carl’s_ been in a mood lately, because of some girl at school. And Judith’s been fussier than normally because everyone seems to be _in a mood_.

Daryl’s tried to be indifferent about it all, but currently he’s definitely more than ready to pack his shit and disappear into the woods until winter. 

The lamp on Rick’s nightstand is still on and he glances at his lover incredulously. The Sheriff of King County is currently staring at the ceiling, his eyes slightly panicky. 

“What’s the matter?” Daryl asks, after Rick doesn’t make a move to notice him. 

“Nothing,” Rick growls as a shifty reply. He tugs the blanket higher up, under his arms, and Daryl can see him pouting just a little.

“’s somethin’,” Daryl replies, his brow knitting together, “Ya been all moody lately. Male PMS, or somethin’?”

Rick scoffs.

“Get them panties straightened then if ya ain’t gonna tell me,” Daryl huffs, shrugging. 

Rick’s quiet for a moment, before he shuffles and sits up. 

“My stomach is getting big,” he states, looking down and placing his palms over the small pouching belly. 

“Wah?” Daryl asks.

“I don’t work out as much, and I’m eating like a pig!” Rick explains, complaining, “Aaron and Eric’s pasta night, Carol’s cookies, Glenn brings us all the pizza we can eat, Jesus being a wizard in the kitchen with all the things he makes and the Greene sisters bringing us those awesome peach cobblers and apple pies from the bakery!” 

He huffs, spreading his arms, “Look at it!” 

Daryl snorts, but says nothing. 

“I’m getting fat. Need to start to workout more. Gotta be able to run after the criminals!”

“So, we have criminals in this town now?” Daryl asks slightly amused.

“We could have,” Rick replies defensive, “Don’t need _them_ laughing at me, like you and Shane are!”

Daryl raises his eyebrow and stares at Rick. The corners of his lips tugged up slightly, but he stifles the smirk quickly.

“I ain’t laughing at you,” Daryl sighs, “Tha’s a good daddy tummy,” he pushes on, reaches over and pats Rick’s abdomen.

“Huh?” Rick inquires, turning his head to look at Daryl sliding down and pulling the blanket over him.

“Yeah, nothin’s wrong with it. It just means ya dedicated yourself to ya family. No time for workout, or takin’ care of ya physique.”

Rick blinks few times. Not at what Daryl is saying but him using a word like ‘ _physique_ ’.

“It’s a lovely tummy,” Daryl says, rolling closer to Rick, propping his head up with his arm, “No more horrible sessions on a treadmill. I’d say a very lovely tummy, indeed. One that loves to watch movies on the couch, eat chips and some damn good chocolate, when the kids fall asleep and we get some time for ourselves.”

“What?”

Daryl grins, actually _grins_ , and kisses Rick on the lips. When he pulls back he smiles softly.

“Go to sleep, Rick,” Daryl sighs and rolls onto his other side, and settles down to sleep, “And kill the light.”

“I’d feel proud of myself if I didn’t pity myself right now,” Rick winces.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
